Deb saw the trunk was full of . . . “Books. Is that full of books?”
“Yep. I’ve hung on to every one I’ve ever gotten hold of.”
There was a Bible on top. A strangely battered Bible that looked as if it’d been burned around the edges. Deb frowned. She hated to see a Bible treated so poorly.
Trace pulled out one book after another. She saw a thick book of Shakespeare’s plays. A book by Plutarch and another by Plato. Charles Dickens and, of all things, a copy of her favorite book ever, Robinson Crusoe.
“Have you read them?”
“Yep, over and over. Adam too. I’ll get Utah to readin’ by the time winter is over. It helps pass long days when we can barely move in the snow.” Trace turned a copy of Ben Franklin’s autobiography over in his hands.
Deb had never in her life had time to just sit and read. Oh, she’d done it some—she’d managed to finish Robinson Crusoe, and she knew the Bible pretty well, which Ma had read to them every night. Deb had loved it, but there was always work. Long hours, all spent writing her own words and setting up the press and cranking out copies and selling them on the street, then writing out bills and collecting payments. All she knew of words was work. But how she’d dreamed of long stretches of time and a book in her hand.
“If we are to stay here all winter, do you think I might be able to read some of your books?”
Trace smiled as he continued to empty the box. “I’d be proud to share them with you, Deb. Gwen too, and you can read to the children.”
He turned to the back of the book, to the last page. “It’s blank.” He held it up for her. “We can use this for paper.”
“You know all these books well enough to know one of them has one blank page in the back?”
Trace’s hand tightened on the book. “It feels wrong to tear it up. But this page serves no purpose, does it?”
He looked hopefully at her, as if asking her to approve of what he wanted to do.
“It does seem wrong to tear up a book. You’re sure there’s no paper?”
Trace’s eyes fixed on something, as if sorting through everything he owned. “Wait, I think some of the supplies from Sacramento were wrapped in paper.” His whole face lit up.
“I’ll go search the cellar.” He set the book down and ran out. A man eager to protect a book. How had the Bible been so badly abused, then?
Deb ran one finger over the last book he’d held, the one with a single blank page. “Robinson Crusoe. Can you imagine finding a copy here in the high-up mountains between Nevada and California?”
“I’ve never had time for much reading,” Gwen said. “But I would purely love a chance at a book and some stretch of quiet to linger over it.”
Maddie Sue shrieked and wrestled with poor, patient Wolf. Deb wondered if quiet would ever really exist.
“Maybe we can spend this winter reading aloud to each other, taking turns.” Gwen rescued the dog and set Maddie Sue to playing with Ronnie. “We can rock the children to sleep and read a chapter each night. And add a bit of Bible reading, too. Maybe we can work our way through a lot of them.”
“It sounds blissful.” Deb looked around the tiny cabin. “And keeping this place tidy shouldn’t take up much time, now, should it?”
“I hope they don’t build us a big house.” Gwen went to work on breakfast. Back east she’d done most of the household chores while Deb ran the paper, and she was a fine cook. “We’ll have to clean it.”
“Let’s make sure they don’t think we need a lot of space. Of course, the cabin is for Trace and his men, so maybe they want more room.”
“Not if they’ve been putting up with this little wreck of a cabin for years. I don’t think we need to worry on that score.” Gwen stirred up pancake batter.
“But two houses? One for us, one for them?”
“They don’t want to spend the winter in here, either.”
“Even though they’ve lived here a long time?” With a shrug, Deb found a skillet among the supplies she’d scavenged from the wagon train. Trace had one too, but this one was bigger, and they had a lot of food to make. She got to work on the bacon, and soon they had a meal cooking along.
Trace came back with a small can wrapped in paper. “You can write your letter on this, and Adam said he’s got a pencil. He went to fetch it.”
He sniffed. “That smells great.”
“Pancakes and bacon. And there’ll be fried eggs in a few minutes. Grab a plate and start eating. We found four plates, so you men eat and we’ll feed the little ones, and then we’ll wash up a couple of the plates and eat ourselves.”
Utah came in the door with a milk pail. Deb had him figured out: the man planning to lead the building. Next came Adam, the stub of a pencil in his hand. He had the fast horse, and he carried a tin basin full of eggs. Deb needed to get that pencil and unwrap the canister, then figure out where to send this letter. She’d looked through the papers she saved and hadn’t found much.
“Maddie Sue, what’s your pa’s name?” Abe had talked of his brother a lot. Abe was proud of him for fighting in the war and heading west and finding them land. But his name . . . Deb was having trouble remembering it right now.
“It’s Pa.” Maddie Sue blinked her eyes at Deb as if the question scared her.
“It’s Cameron, remember, Deb?” Gwen said. “Ronnie is named for him. Cameron Scott.”
“That’s right. And what town would you say he lives in?” Deb searched
